Monday, 1 April 2013

So for the past few months, I’ve been cradling certain
memories and stories in my heart. There are women and girls that I’ve met here
that have touched me in such a deep place. These beautiful women have shown me
what bravery, kindness, selflessness, perseverance, and love look like. Part of
me has wanted to tell their stories, but I don’t want objectify them for the
sake of a story. I do, however, want to share the way that God is stirring something up
in my heart because they have been in my life, because they have lived. So,
today, I want to tell you about Zeba.

I met Zeba when we moved here 8 months ago. I remember the
very first time I saw her. When we moved in, I was (for a short time) a sort of
celebrity with the neighborhood little girls. All of them came to our house
everyday to ask a barrage of questions about life in America, how to make
cookies, or my favorite colors and movies. While the girls piled into my
kitchen to make cookies one day, Zeba stayed outside, her body flat against my
house with one ear pressed to my kitchen window screen. I caught a glimpse of
her hair through the window, so I invited her in. I’m pretty sure her big brown
eyes doubled in size at my invitation, but she said yes. Zeba was a short and
stout seven year old. She was calm, quiet, and I remember how quickly she
worked rolling lumps of cookie dough between her hands and arranging them
neatly on the cookie sheet.

After our first meeting, I learned that Zeba’s mother worked
as a maid for my next-door neighbor. Zeba was the oldest of her children, so
early in the morning before school, Zeba came to work with her to learn the
tricks of the trade. Then, after school she would return to my neighbor’s house
to work. Sometimes, if the housework was slow, Zeba came outside to play with
the other girls for an hour or two. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say things
like this, but Zeba quickly became my favorite. She was just so kind. I would
sometimes see the girls outside playing. If one fell down, Zeba would console
her. If one was rude, Zeba would quickly try to resolve the conflict between
them. If one was crying, Zeba wiped their tears. She had this natural way of
nurturing everyone. The other girls were pretty mean to her. When no one was
around she was a fine playmate, but when there were others to choose from, Zeba
quickly became an outsider and the butt of all their jokes. She tolerated it
beautifully. And somehow, she always smiled and laughed.

I couldn’t help myself. I found myself sneakily giving her
extra cookies or saving some of our American food to let her taste. When the
other kids weren’t around and she was outside doing work, I’d sit with her and
try to tell stories with my bad grammar and limited vocabulary. When she was
too busy and couldn’t come out, I’d wink or wave at her from my doorway. She
and I would sit and laugh and make faces at each other. One day, Zeba didn’t
come out at all. It was around Bakra Eid, so I didn’t think much about it. I
figured the busyness of the holiday meant extra work. But, then two or three
days passed and I still hadn’t seen her. I asked my husband about her. He told
me he learned from the neighbors days before that Zeba had been sold to a
family in Delhi as a house maid. She wouldn’t be going to go to school anymore,
but would take on full time work for our neighbor’s relative. He didn’t have the
heart to tell me sooner.

I have seldom felt the way I did at that moment. It was like
all of my internal organs moved from my abdomen to my feet. My heart raced, my
face flushed, and tears came flowing. I still miss her. I find myself praying
for her often. Every now and again, I still cry for her. When I see her mom, I
always ask how Zeba is. She says she hasn’t gotten to talk to her much. At
first, I was angry. And then I was ashamed that I didn’t see it coming and
hadn’t tried to do something to help her before she was sold. But then,
finally, I found myself in surrender to the Lord, just trusting Him to hold on
to this sweet, innocent one. And I sense Him leading me to continue to walk
with my eyes and heart open for little ones like Zeba. I may have only given
her extra cookies, but maybe by God’s grace, in the future I can offer another
little girl something more.